Failure
by Ryuki Rose
Summary: Inspired by Amorra Week: Day 6 - 1920s.


Grey seemed to be the color of Republic City, anymore. Once vibrant and colorful scenery became muted, dull, and withered under the Neo-Equalist regime. A depression clung to the city and infected all the citizens who found strength to scuffle along the sidewalks with their cloaks tugged tightly around their thinning frames.

Among the sparse crowds on the street, a figure seemed to loom above all other heads. Broad and hulking among his peers, the man strode with a confident - if cautious - step, ducking down alleyways and taking short-cuts that would have meant death for anyone else.

The dank walls were plastered with propaganda from Neo-Equalists, done up in familiar reds, yellows, and whites. He averted his light blue eyes at every piece of paper, a scowl deepening across his lips.

Try as he might, Noatak mentally berated himself with each step he took through the stench-filled crevices.

After Amon was dispatched, a Neo-Equalist movement struck. It had been the Equalist leader's back-up plan, should he fail. With Republic City weak from the first Equalist wave, the Neo-Equalists would have an easier time taking over the corrupt and lax city. Once they set their roots in Republic City - a simultaneous movement that actually happened across the globe in other populaces - the world would come next. Benders would be eradicated, one way or another, and Equality could grace a truly new era worldwide.

The way Shuang went about leading made bile climb up Noatak's throat.

He thought the woman had sense, intellect, and cunning. Every trait anyone would need to lead the way into a brighter, safer world. What she lacked, however, was basic human decency.

Dwelling would only lead to distraction. He didn't need that. His task ahead was difficult enough without bitter self-resentment. Approaching a squat, grey building - a building that tried oh-so-hard to fit into the rest of the bland surroundings - Noatak's stomach clenched.

No matter how many times he visited, he couldn't shove away the sickness that plagued his thoughts and his stomach. A quick knock on a metal door, the sharp hiss as the window in the door was pulled aside so a guard could pierce him with a Look.

Noatak cleared his throat, shaking Amon from his vocal cords before monotonously intoning, "The Dragon burns the city to ash."

"So, what's that supposed to do?" Snarled the guard, though Noatak picked up on the farce of the man's tone.  
"It allows the Phoenix to rise, again."

Behind the door, the man narrowed his eyes. Noatak knew what he saw; a grungy, dirty, disgusting lump that barely passed for human. The former leader didn't break under the scrutiny. No, he was used to much worse from much more powerful.

The guard finally slammed the little window closed. Seconds later, the gears and toggles of tumblers fell in locks and the door slowly opened with nary a squeak. The man behind the door was squat, a foot shorter - briefly, Noatak wondered where he stowed the stepstool so he could look out the door - and dour. Noatak nodded gratitude to the guard, before striding into the building. He didn't look back as he strode through the halls, recounting steps from memory. Behind his back, Noatak heard the heavy door slam back into place and could vaguely hear the scrape of locks being returned to their rightful positions.

Sterility clawed at Noatak's nose, along with a brief and stale scent of medication. He didn't dare look down the bright white halls, or peek into other rooms. Far off echoes of screams and sobs set the hair on the back of his neck standing straight. None of it would sicken him as much as she would, though.

Noatak stood before a door, so like the hundreds he had passed on the way to her room. Tall, white, stark, with only a lock to keep the patient inside. He felt disgust bite at his blood, thinking of how she was so discarded, as if she had never been a threat. Quickly, he procured a key from a hidden depth of his cloak and unlocked the door, fighting off nausea as the heavy scent of stale piss curled from the room.

Ducking inside, Noatak quietly closed the door behind him, locking it as he turned her. His heart throbbed with pain, seeing the Avatar in her current state. Noatak had lost count of how many times he entered this room and subjected himself to this sight…

Blue eyes dulled, half-lidded, unresponsive. Lips relaxed and without that annoying half-curl of a smirk. Muscles decayed, body weak and much thinner than she had been in the past. Her cheekbones jutted from her flesh, proud and angry and disturbing. The new regime barely fed her, but why feed a vegetable? She was merely a husk of her former self, but Noatak still visited.

Unclasping the hollowed out gourd from his belt, queasiness danced in Noatak's stomach as he settled into a kneel before the Avatar. He felt so foolish, on his knees before the seated young woman; he was also aware of the juxtaposition he placed himself in. Once, he stood before those on their knees, breaking victims in attempt to heal them; now, he knelt before the Avatar, seeking to mend and return her to her previous state.

Shaking the thought from his head, Noatak coaxed water from the gourd and turned his eyes back to the Avatar. He stared at her face, anger flaring in his chest as his gaze traced over the white gauze that hid the hole they had drilled into her head. Rage never abated at that sight. Tentatively, he reached up and gently pulled the bandage from Korra's face. She didn't even flinch.

Noatak forced himself to look at the injury as he held his hand, encased in water, to Korra's face. Swallowing heavily, the man concentrated, finding the beat and rhythm of blood while weaving water into Korra's brain in a hope to heal the damage done.

It was a slow process and Noatak had lost count of how many times he had bumbled into this room, had attempted to heal the Avatar, had prayed and nearly cried to see the fire return to her eyes. He would stay there and heal until his knees became cold and stiff, until his eyelids drooped and a hopelessness consumed his chest. Until he couldn't bare to stare at Korra's empty face; as if she were simply a doll wearing a Korra mask.

And it was his fault that the Avatar was like this.

Noatak despised admitting that to himself, but he had laid the plans out, he had chosen Shuang as a predecessor. The funds were of his pocket - well, mostly Hiroshi's, but the man was another pawn of Noatak's - and the plans had been drawn with his hand.

It wasn't his fault that crazy Dragon Lady Shuang had stumbled upon a "therapy" so savage that it made even Noatak pity the benders she used it on.

Lobotomies. Remove the source of bending, from whence it begins in the brain. It was all theory and conjecture and savagery. Noatak could only see it destroying individuals, rather than healing them of corruption. His hand clenched into a fist and, briefly, Korra's body shuddered.

The brief movement caught Noatak's attention. Jolted, he sat straighter, eyes wide as he traced over Korra's face, hope swelling in his chest, "Young Avatar?"

No response.

He swallowed a lump in his chest, placing the bandage back over Korra's slow healing injury. His body deflated in hopelessness. There was nothing he could do. How many hours had he wasted, trying to retrieve Korra's fire from some deeply hidden synapse? How many days had he lost, trying to regain the Avatar? Noatak could have been planning, been finding a way to overthrow the government he had helped establish.

The click of the lock caught Noatak's attention. He was on his feet, facing the entryway just as the door swung open, slowly. Shuang stood there, arms crossed over her chest and lips twisted into a vicious smile. A task force stood behind her, wielding weapons that Noatak had helped to invent.

"Another silly healer, thinking he can return the Avatar to corruption?" The woman barked a laugh and Noatak relaxed. She didn't now who he was. He was just another nameless, faceless water bender. He could use that to his advantage. A look of pity crossed Shuang's sharp features, "So many problems over one little girl. Perhaps it would be better to remove her from the equation, hm?"

There was no arguing with insanity. Noatak knew that first-hand, having been clutched by craziness in the past. Rather than waste words, the man chose to react. Shuang and her task force were down on the ground with one swift blood-bending move, their bodies thumping heavily on the dreary tiles. Noatak quickly broke the restraints, hauling up Korra's body and carrying her bridal style - trying not to concentrate on how light Korra now was - out the door while he stepped atop paralyzed bodies.

Once his boots hit even flooring, he broke into a run. He weaved through the halls, ducked and dodged and dispatched various guards with blood-bending before racing into the chill of the night. Drizzle began to drain from the sky, weighing Noatak's cloak down as he hauled Korra's dead weight through the streets of Republic City, easily avoiding the curfew-restrained citizens.

A siren howled into the night sky, jangling his thoughts. Finally, far enough from the asylum and away from any hidden eyes that kept watch on the streets, Noatak found his manhole. Bending the condensation on the metal's cover, the man was able to remove the cover without dropping Korra. Hopping into the revealed hole, Noatak disappeared, but the manhole cover obediently returned to its previous position.

Though it was his imagination, the man could hear the pounding footsteps of task forces seeking the water bender and the kidnapped Avatar. He could hear the presses flutter with newspaper and spitting print about the Resistance's newest stunt. Noatak wasn't sure what he was going to do; while few knew his face - especially with the scars he sported - he doubted many would trust his lies. If Korra was ever revived, she would know.

Making his way to a sewage opening that drained into Yue Bay, Noatak lost his balance. His shoulder slammed against the wall, legs giving way beneath him. He slid to the ground, back against the wall, ignoring the wetness and grime that sopped into his pants. He still clutched Korra to his chest.

"Foolish." He snarled to himself. He didn't have to take her. To steal her from a relatively safe position. Shuang's threat, her words, had struck him. Reliving them made a sick shiver curl across his spine. He hadn't wanted to tempt Shuang into abiding by her words.

But his sudden kidnapping was idiotic. The city would be on alert, now. Task forces would be trolling anywhere, trying to find any hint of him or the Avatar. The Resistance - what fledging of a movement it was - would be destroyed, as a proactive movement.

"Why do I always act so foolish when you're involved?" Noatak muttered, his grip tightening on Korra. Even when he was a prestigious leader, his well-plotted plans went to shambles with the Avatar around. She awoke insanity in him; a deep-seeded craze that his father had planted. Or perhaps he had inherited it from Yakone.

Frustrated tears bit on Noatak's eyes. He had ruined equality; he had - indirectly -destroyed the Avatar; Republic City was under the thumb of an insane tyrant; the Resistance would be found and squashed before it could go much further.

To make matters worse, Korra's heartbeat was slowing.

That startled Noatak. Sitting upright, he stared at the girl, eyes trailing up and down her body. Why was her heartbeat slowing? Had he done something wrong? Was this Shuang's doing, somehow? His head spun as Korra's body began to lose heat, began to become clammy and even more like a corpse.

"Avatar, you cannot…" Noatak couldn't finish the sentence. It trailed off, drowned out by the pattering of heavy rain on the metal sewage drain pipe. He swallowed, fingers digging into Korra's body as he cradled her, "You're the hero, Korra. You can't…you have to save the world from Shuang. Save Republic City, save your friends…save me. Please. You can't just…"

Korra remained silent.

Xxx

Noatak sat in that pipe, hunched over Korra's cold body. Tears quietly squeezed from his eyes, over his cheeks, and he mentally berated himself for being so weak. The insult was lost in a flurry of misery and woe that swept up his synapses.

He was at a loss. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't fix anything. He was never able to. There he was, sitting in a sewage run-off, muck and shit accumulating on his pants while he held a dead body in his hands. If that wasn't the epitome of failure, Noatak didn't know what was.

He should roar to the sky, be angry, flare to life and find a regained sense of fiery vengeance for losing Korra, the city, his Equalists, his goals. Lightning should flash, and thunder should roll. Instead, the rain pattered down, quiet and sullen, and he curled over the Avatar, feeling hopeless and lost. Like a child clinging to a stuffed animal, crying in the rain.

Pathetic.

The fact he was crying made it worse. How long had it been since he last cried?

He couldn't even recall.  
His eyes focused on Korra's face and he reached up, gently tugging the bandage off her wound and tossing the gauze into the bay. Noatak gingerly brushed stray strands of brown hair from Korra's face, wondering what she would think of him now. How the mighty Amon had fallen into such depths of disgusting weakness. And she? How would she handle being a weakling?

His gaze trailed across what he could see of her body; her cheekbones pulling her skin taut, arms thin and frail, clavicle bone flush against her flesh. Such a thin layer of skin and muscle separating her bones from the world.

And it was all his fault. His. Fault. Just as his brother's death was on his hands. Try as Noatak might, he never accomplished anything of worth. He was a blood-bending monster, a liar, and incapable of good. No matter how hard he tried, the results were the same. He worsened everything.

"I'm sorry, Korra," The words came out garbled and hoarse. If he had let her be, a more talented water bender could have saved her, the Resistance could have revived her. Instead, she lay dead in his arms with the stench of feces and rotting water around them. The rain pounded harder on the metal pipe and Noatak found him forcing out, louder, so Korra's spirit could hear, "I'm sorry. I'd do anything…"

Almost drowned out by the clang of rain on metal, the Avatar let out a breathy whimper. Her body shifted a hair's breadth. Noatak swallowed, remaining still lest his imagination revoke what little gift it had just given him. Her eyelids fluttered open, half-way. Blue eyes, unfocused, softened from confusion and a near comatose state stared at him. Vaguely, Noatak thought he could see a spark of indignity in the depths of her gaze.

"Wh-what?" Korra rasped. Noatak swallowed, blinking back tears and stared at her. Korra's eyes swung around the foreign environment and Noatak wondered if she could register the stink of the sewage. Her body shifted, gently, unable to do much more while starved and reborn into the conscious world. "Where…what's…"

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe, Avatar." He murmured and her eyes returned to his face. A faint familiarity passed across her vision and Noatak steeled himself for her recognition. It didn't come. What little tension strung through her body relaxed. Her head lolled against his shoulder, eyes closing.

Noatak watched over Korra that night, making sure that heartbeat never faltered.


End file.
